Chanukah Eyes

How can our homemade menorahs compete with all the dazzling lights of Christmas?

The fourth night of Chanukah, my husband is late for the candle lighting. My children's unlit clay menorahs are positioned precariously on the radiator. My second daughter, Elana, stares across the street at the neighbor's lawn. The Healys have draped their cedar tree with electric blue lights.

Next door, a deer stands poised with one hoof lifted prettily, as if about to break into a prance. Nearby, a bloated, inflated snowman sways drunkenly in the night air. My six-year-old daughter chews on the end of her plastic dreidel. A wistful look crosses her face. "Why can't we have decorations like that?" she asks.

"Why can't we have decorations like that?"

I remind her how we go all out on Sukkot. We have fancy lights, murals painted on the walls, and assorted fruit and tchotchkes hanging from the rafters of our Sukkah. But on Chanukah, I tell her, the menorah is all we've got.

"Can't we have something big?" she begs. "Something pretty, maybe a lamb or a sheep?"

Oh great, I think: a paschal lamb on our porch. But that's the wrong holiday. I gaze down at our rickety display of homemade menorahs. I know they can't compete with Mrs. Healy's Christmas tree, the dazzling strings of light and the candy canes and wreaths dangling from telephone poles, not to mention jolly Ole Santa and all the treats in his mysterious fat bag. I guess my daughter wants a swankier holiday.

Across the street, I see a family at the window putting a match to their oil menorah. I look at my watch. Its time to light, but my husband won't be home for a good half hour.

"Come on, kids," I suddenly decide. "Let's go on a menorah hunt."

The kids are game. We pack into our minivan. "Fifty menorahs," I say. "After we find 50 lit menorahs, we go home to light our own." There. That'll pass the time.

They press their faces to the window. "There's one," my daughter Elana points. My son easily spots another two. "I see it, I see it," my youngest one crows, waving her fist. The numbers quickly add up. No surprise there. We live in a Jewish neighborhood in New Jersey. My son hits the jackpot with five menorah houses, back to back, belly to belly.

"This is too easy," he scoffs. I think he's right, and I make a left and a right, and go on a long stretch that turns into a different, more ritzy -- dare I say WASPy -- neighborhood. Here, electric lights blaze forth from every house. Multicolored reindeers poke their hooves into well-tended zoysia grass. There are elves or maybe fawns lurking near Holly bushes, and Santas and sleighs clumped around rhododendrons. There are unusual shadow and light displays; some are actually artistic. My kids grow silent at all the holiday splendor.

"Where are all the menorahs?" my son wonders out loud.

"So many Santas," Elana observes. I wonder when it was she stopped calling Santa the big red Zeide.

"Keep looking," I say tersely. I turn left, then right.

Aren't I setting up the kids for disappointment? Christmas is everywhere. They're at the age when they're starting to realize how few of us we are. And in fact, my older daughter says, "How come there's so little of us?"

"Yes, we're little," I agree. "So what? Chanukah celebrates the victory of the few over the many. The few are also strong."

But my daughter, steeped in a Jewish education, counters, "God said we'd be many. 'You shall be as numerous as the stars of the heaven,'" she quotes.

Suddenly Elana shouts, "I see a menorah!" Our heads turn. "Where, where?" and she points proudly. There indeed it is, sitting in the window of what looks to be someone's kitchen. On either side of the house is a fantastic network of lights and sleighs and an illuminated nativity scene. And in between sits a dignified little menorah on a Jewish window sill. Feeling like the Maccabees who found that one last vial of oil to light the menorah, we all whoop and cheer.

As we make our way back home, we spot another two menorahs, each one a victory. In our own neighborhood, we easily pick up six houses here, seven houses there, surpassing the number of 50 by the time we arrive home.

When we come inside, my husband is pouring olive oil into glass cups. The breakable colored candles have been twisted into the kids' clay menorahs. We make the blessings, sing a little, dance a little and then the kids disperse. I linger in front of our homemade display and then I remember a custom. The old Hasidic masters used to sit and gaze at the lit candles for a full half hour, even more. They say that staring at the candles expands a person's vision; how the eyes see the world, what they regard as beautiful.

I sit now on the couch and try to keep my gaze on the lights. It's amazing to me how dreidels and sufganiot and potato latkes can keep my kids happily occupied. It feels restful here, watching. While the candles burn, women aren't supposed to be working anyway, to honor the extra role women had in the miracle of Chanukah. I let my eyes take their fill while my husband fries more latkes.

Elana wanders over to the radiator and looks across the street at the neighbor's fancy holiday decorations.

I say to her in a quiet voice, "Look at our candles, look closely and tell me what you see."

The world tries to grab you with its fancy big lights. But the light of the menorah is subtle and gradually envelops you.

She stares for a long time, her big brown eyes grave and finally tells me. "The flames are shaped like arrows, they point upward, there's a dark blue in the center, the flames keep moving here and there but are held in place by the wick, they're tiny and they're beautiful to look at." Then she adds, "The flames are arrows pointing to heaven."

The image delights me, and she seems pleased, too, but then I see her eyes return to the window, to the pretty lights across the street.

I want to tell my daughter how the world tries to grab you with its fancy big lights. They are powerful, and they'll dazzle you for sure. But the light of the menorah is subtle, it gradually envelops you, and the more you look at it, its inner loveliness will sneak up and take your soul by surprise. That's what I want to say, but why say anything? She's only six.

She nods, taking in my words, relieved, it seems, that I agree with her.

My husband likes to say about fireworks that no matter how spectacular, you can't look at the show for more than an hour. At a certain point the fireworks seem gaudy, a little much for the eyes. But you never get tired of gazing at the stars.

My daughter yawns and I pat the space on the couch beside me. I realize I have let my eyes drift away from the candles. "Come back, let's look at the menorah," I say. She curves in next to me, her eyes tired and a little dreamy, while my own eyes blink and strain to see what she saw, little arrows of light pointing to the sky.

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About the Author

Ruchama Feuerman lived in Israel for ten years where she studied and taught Torah, and then returned to the U.S. to pursue an MFA in fiction from Brooklyn College. Her latest novel, "In the Courtyard of the Kabbalist," received rave reviews from the Boston Globe, Dallas Morning News, Jerusalem Post and the Wall Street Journal which deemed it the best novel of the year. Her most recent work, a children's book, "Binah Lobell's Super Secret Diary," was just published by Judaica Press. Ruchama lives in New Jersey with her husband and four children and teaches writing, helping people to write books.

Visitor Comments: 23

(23)
Anonymous,
December 24, 2014 3:49 AM

Hannukah or xmas

You don't need to compete with xmas.With Hanukkah, you may be in the minority but you have retained the authentic spirit of it, and shalom Beis, which is what children remember in the long run. The warmth of your home.

(22)
Anonymous,
June 21, 2011 7:24 AM

Lights

Driving home tonight and seeing stringed lights and lighted trees in the windows, yes they are pretty and it was only right to admit they are. The thought crossed my mind, since they have lit them already which will be during our festival of lights, they are sharing in their own way with us our festival of lights. India had theirs, now us, and following that the christians have theirs. By the first of Nov, when the days are shorter, the trees are barren of leaves the look of Blah of winter. Using my imagination the use of pine trees being brought into houses thousands of years ago could of been started by the Jews to scent the homes during winter months of it being closed up. Then the non Jews as is recorded were the ones to decorate them with real gold and silver as an adoration of trees. Jews gradually stopped bringing in pine trees so not to be associated with a pagan practice. Winter with less sunlight, light is the answer to brighten up our spirits. Fire is a natural light that brings warmth, contemplation and unity. It's a natural beauty from a flame that after it's time to blow it out, it remains with you. The strings of electric lights are awe, when they are unplugged it's over, the beauty is gone. After the 8 days there isn't an empty feeling, or during the 8 days there isn't the thoughts "can't wait till this is over with" Those with young children, parents have a challenge to make Hanukkah special for their children age appropriate. Using my imagination, Jews probable did things first thousands of years ago, during these winter months to make winter more lively and good physiologically and others competed with us to try to out do us and we moved on to better things.

(21)
Debra,
June 21, 2011 7:24 AM

What a beautiful story, beautiful photo and such a beautiful title.

(20)
Gedalyah,
June 21, 2011 7:23 AM

move to Israel

The author starts with the question: How can our homemade menorahs compete with all the dazzling lights of Christmas? No need to answer or even ASK the question when you live in Israel. Remember Israel? - the place where Hashem intended us to be and now have the opportunity to live. The only things my kids think of December 25 is thats its the day after December 24. Thank G-d!

(19)
Alan D. Busch,
June 21, 2011 7:23 AM

Find thyself a teacher ...

If there were ever a need to refute the old canard that "those who can, do and those who can't, teach, the refutation would reside in the example of Ruchama King Feuerman who not only can write and does so prolifically and well but is a master teacher and mentor too. I make this confident assertion easily because I am one of Ruchama's students who has studied her gift for storytelling. A keen observer of life’s fine details with a focus on familial and social dynamics, Ruchama exudes a profound derech eretz for our ‘bubbes and zaydes” whose oral histories she faithfully records for the benefit of those who’ll come after. Ruchama draws upon our common experiences in such a way that the reader comes away thinking “Hey, that sounds like my family. That has happened to us too.” I read Ruchama’s story “Chanukah Eyes” with special interest because it reminded me of what my mom used to do fifty years ago when our Chanukah consisted of plugging in an electric menorah and buying gifts for my brother and me. As little as she knew about Judaism, it was enough to teach me who I was. So I thank her for doing what she could, and I thank Ruchama whose wonderful story awakened long slumbering memories. Alan D. Busch

(18)
Anonymous,
December 29, 2008 9:55 AM

I don't have to compete with Xmas here in Monsey

Nor would I have to in Brooklyn, or any other real Jewish town. Surround your children with Jewishness, that is the real answer. I actually overheard one of my younger kids telling his brother, "You know, we THINK there are many more Jews than gentiles, but really there are many more gentiles than Jews!" Sure, they see Xmas decorations, but they're so immersed in their Jewishness and so proud of it, no one even thinks of competing.

(17)
Anonymous,
December 25, 2008 5:46 PM

The Ilusion of it all...

If only I could tell Jewish children about the "fanciful illusion" of it all. I was on that "glitzy" side of it, all the lights, the fancy-shmanzy decorations, the over-sentimentalized cards, greetings, the commercial, and consumer driven, contrived insistence on "gifts" "fris kringle" papa Santa etc etc...how profoundly meaningless, ephemeral, artificial, Empty, devoid of substance it all really is.
Unless one wishes to "worship" a human g-d, and find meaning in the finitude of a human being assigned to the roel of G-d, then all of this is so profoundly depressingly, a complete robbing of the meaning of what faith in G-d, is in the infinitude of the Creator who oversees all of Humankind - he does not "need" to have anyone "celebrate" his birth, only remeber him Every day, in every way, in our hearts.
It is a good analogy to remmeber that all this seeming brightness, can suddenly be "turned off", destroyed, put away ect..
The Real G-d, is Eternal, and gives us a soul, and the freedom to seek Him, honour His Creation, and all His Creatures(other humans as well), every moment of every day.
Man-made ideas, particularly of the fantasy type, always leads to deceived hopes, wrong paths, intransegeant behaviour, and judging others.
The Real G-d, like the Menorah, as the author of this Truly beautiful, and isnpiring text advises, is subtle, unceasing, and infinite - His light, Never Ever, ceases to give to his creatures, great and small.
Ahavah.

As always, three cheers for Ruchama King! This article is so beautiful and so true. Especially the firework vs. stars comparison. That is the perfect comparison.
As far as the comments about how the author should have spoken with her children about the issue, I think that children learn most effectively from our personal example. The author's clear deep love and enthusiasm for the holiday will surely trickle down to them so that they will feel this profound love as well for all of their lives- even when they, G-d willing, will light candles with their own children.

(13)
Marjorie Brown,
December 24, 2008 6:47 PM

This is a very beautiful story. I enjoyed it thoroughly.

(12)
Channa,
December 24, 2008 5:18 AM

I really like this story. in this day and age its really hard not to enjoy the non jewish holiday season, because the purpose of it is festivity. but it is only shallowness and the meaning behind it is nothingness.

(11)
David Fogleson,
December 23, 2008 10:38 PM

I agree with #8 except

Iused to think that we as Jews were not hurt or disrespected by the Christians because of our differences, but we are because their children learn that it's alright to lie let me explain we as parents are supposed to be role models , but if we tell them there is a Santa and all the other stuff , then when they do learn the truth they lose respect for their parents. So tell them the truth from the beginning, and be the best role model you can be.

(10)
Anonymous,
December 23, 2008 3:00 PM

Why do you have to see Hannukah as a competition with Christmas? Why can't you see yourself as just something different..you don't always have to compete. It's not even a major Jewish holiday like Yom Kippur or Rosh Hashannah

(9)
pia wolcowitz,
December 23, 2008 2:08 AM

Fascinating and uplifting, Ruchama Feuerman sure knows how to spin a great yarn.

(8)
Anonymous,
December 22, 2008 11:27 AM

Disagree

While this is a beautifully written story, and I admire the creativity and enthusiasm that the writer put into her spontaneous 'menorah hunt', I disagree that a 6 year old is too young to understand the concept that glitz and glamour are artificial, and that only quieter, internal things actually last and mean anything. Certainly, such a discussion would have to be age appropriate (and not, of course, to give the little girl the feeling that she'd done anything wrong by admiring the bright lights across the street) - but my oldest is 7, and I have found that there are lots of things that we can discuss, and you never know when seeds are being planted. If not now, then when?

(7)
sandra,
December 22, 2008 3:30 AM

for #6

your comment brought back memories from when we were living in south america where the local populance used to whisper as my bearded husband walked by 'papai noel' (santa)

(6)
sara,
December 21, 2008 4:21 PM

big red zeide -santa

At seminary many years ago- out teacher/historian explained the Christians wanted a warm friendly gently face- they didn't have one- but Jews do-so they imitated it- in Santa- don't laugh -years ago in manhattan- my husband ( a chasid) was seen by a little girl- who ehisphered in a voice the whole store heard- loo0k mom- Santa- sure -kind blue eyes pink cheeks long white beard!

(5)
Basyah,
December 21, 2008 12:24 PM

Writer's eyes

I can't tell which is more impressive: the ability to articulate as well as the author does or the seemingly casual way she comes up with a perfect way to turn around a potentially tense situation- both by getting in the car and by reflecting her daughter's feelings about the lights or by her ability to see the "outside" world for what it is and be able to express it to her children. Ashrecha Ruchama. And your children are so fortunate to have such a mother.

I agree with Elana, it's so hard to compete at Chanukah time with those multicolored, flashing, gaudy lights and decorations that jump out at you from every American corner. Sure, my family also tried to focus on our little menorah (which we made more colorful by choosing different-hued candles each night), our holiday songs and games of dreidel, and my parents went the extra mile to buy us 8 days' worth of gifts instead of the 1 day's worth we knew our neighbors were getting. We knew we were Jewish, and we planned to stay that way, but it was oh so hard. Then I came to Israel, and on that first Chanukah in Jerusalem, when I rounded the corner to my dormitory, my breath was taken away by the sight of hundreds of little menorahs twinkling in EVERY window! The more nights of Chanukah, the more lights I saw, until all of Jerusalem was ablaze with Chanukah unity. Please tell Elana that if she really wants to "feel" Jewish, "like everyone else," Israel is the place for her.

(1)
ruth housman,
December 21, 2008 9:12 AM

Diana's arrow: for love

This is a very sweet story. I think of this season, in its entirety, as The Festival of Lights, and surely we can say this about Chanukah. I delight in the candles in the windows of houses, in the festive trees, the garlands. I am wreathed in smiles because surely, especially here in New England where I live, as the days grow longer without sun, I feel the need for light. Let there be light!
Anything that's about LOVE cannot be wrong. And yes, of course, the stars are the brightest, most true. And we too, and especially the children, all of them stars.

I'm told that it's a mitzvah to become intoxicated on Purim. This puzzles me, because to my understanding, it is not considered a good thing to become intoxicated, period.

One of the characteristics of the at-risk youth is their use of drugs, including alcohol. In my experience, getting drunk doesn't reveal secrets. It makes people act stupid and irresponsible, doing things they would never do if they were sober. Also, I know a lot about the horrible health effects of abusing alcohol, because I work at a research center that focuses on addiction and substance abuse.

Also, I am an alcoholic, which means that if I drink, very bad things happen. I have not had a drink in 22 years, and I have no intention of starting now. Surely there must be instances where a person is excused from the obligation to drink. I don't see how Judaism could ever promote the idea of getting drunk. It just doesn't seem right.

The Aish Rabbi Replies:

Putting aside for a moment all the spiritual and philosophical reasons for getting drunk on Purim, this remains an issue of common sense. Of course, teenagers should be warned of the dangers of acute alcohol ingestion. Of course, nobody should drink and drive. Of course, nobody should become so drunk to the point of negligence in performing mitzvot. And of course, a recovering alcoholic should not partake of alcohol on Purim.

Indeed, the Code of Jewish Law explicitly says that if one suspects the drinking may affect him negatively, then he should NOT drink.

Getting drunk on Purim is actually one of the most difficult mitzvot to do correctly. A person should only drink if it will lead to positive spiritual results - e.g. under the loosening affect of the alcohol, greater awareness will surface of the love for God and Torah found deep in the heart. (Perhaps if we were on a higher spiritual level, we wouldn't need to get drunk!)

Yet the Talmud still speaks of an obligation on Purim of "not knowing the difference between Blessed is Mordechai and Cursed is Haman." How then should a person who doesn't drink get the point of “not knowing”? Simple - just go to sleep! (Rama - OC 695:2)

All this applies to individuals. But the question remains - does drinking on Purim adversely affect the collective social health of the Jewish community?

The aversion to alcoholism is engrained into Jewish consciousness from a number of Biblical and Talmudic sources. There are the rebuking words of prophets - Isaiah 28:1, Hosea 3:1 with Rashi, and Amos 6:6, and the Zohar says that "The wicked stray after wine" (Midrash Ne'alam Parshat Vayera).

It is well known that the rate of alcoholism among Jews has historically been very low. Numerous medical, psychological and sociological studies have confirmed this. The connection between Judaism and sobriety is so evident, that the following conversation is reported by Lawrence Kelemen in "Permission to Receive":

When Dr. Mark Keller, editor of the Quarterly Journal of Studies on Alcohol, commented that "practically all Jews do drink, and yet all the world knows that Jews hardly ever become alcoholics," his colleague, Dr. Howard Haggard, director of Yale's Laboratory of Applied Physiology, jokingly proposed converting alcoholics to the Jewish religion in order to immerse them in a culture with healthy attitudes toward drinking!

Perhaps we could suggest that it is precisely because of the use of alcohol in traditional ceremonies (Kiddush, Bris, Purim, etc.), that Jews experience such low rates of alcoholism. This ceremonial usage may actually act like an inoculation - i.e. injecting a safe amount that keeps the disease away.

Of course, as we said earlier, all this needs to be monitored with good common sense. Yet in my personal experience - having been in the company of Torah scholars who were totally drunk on Purim - they acted with extreme gentleness and joy. Amid the Jewish songs and beautiful words of Torah, every year the event is, for me, very special.

Adar 12 marks the dedication of Herod's renovations on the second Holy Temple in Jerusalem in 11 BCE. Herod was king of Judea in the first century BCE who constructed grand projects like the fortresses at Masada and Herodium, the city of Caesarea, and fortifications around the old city of Jerusalem. The most ambitious of Herod's projects was the re-building of the Temple, which was in disrepair after standing over 300 years. Herod's renovations included a huge man-made platform that remains today the largest man-made platform in the world. It took 10,000 men 10 years just to build the retaining walls around the Temple Mount; the Western Wall that we know today is part of that retaining wall. The Temple itself was a phenomenal site, covered in gold and marble. As the Talmud says, "He who has not seen Herod's building, has never in his life seen a truly grand building."

Some people gauge the value of themselves by what they own. But in reality, the entire concept of ownership of possessions is based on an illusion. When you obtain a material object, it does not become part of you. Ownership is merely your right to use specific objects whenever you wish.

How unfortunate is the person who has an ambition to cleave to something impossible to cleave to! Such a person will not obtain what he desires and will experience suffering.

Fortunate is the person whose ambition it is to acquire personal growth that is independent of external factors. Such a person will lead a happy and rewarding life.

With exercising patience you could have saved yourself 400 zuzim (Berachos 20a).

This Talmudic proverb arose from a case where someone was fined 400 zuzim because he acted in undue haste and insulted some one.

I was once pulling into a parking lot. Since I was a bit late for an important appointment, I was terribly annoyed that the lead car in the procession was creeping at a snail's pace. The driver immediately in front of me was showing his impatience by sounding his horn. In my aggravation, I wanted to join him, but I saw no real purpose in adding to the cacophony.

When the lead driver finally pulled into a parking space, I saw a wheelchair symbol on his rear license plate. He was handicapped and was obviously in need of the nearest parking space. I felt bad that I had harbored such hostile feelings about him, but was gratified that I had not sounded my horn, because then I would really have felt guilty for my lack of consideration.

This incident has helped me to delay my reactions to other frustrating situations until I have more time to evaluate all the circumstances. My motives do not stem from lofty principles, but from my desire to avoid having to feel guilt and remorse for having been foolish or inconsiderate.

Today I shall...

try to withhold impulsive reaction, bearing in mind that a hasty act performed without full knowledge of all the circumstances may cause me much distress.

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